If Only, If Only
by scalesandfishnails
Summary: "If only, if only," the woodpecker sighs, "the bark on the trees was as soft as the sky." Faberry / Quinn aims to conquer Rachel Berry's heart in New York.
1. Chapter 1

My name is Quinn Fabray. Have you ever heard that name before? If you have, I guess that means you once lived in the hopeless abyss we all call Lima, Ohio. Or maybe you still live there? It's possible. It's also possible that there are many, many _other_ Quinn Fabrays in the world…but I don't like to think that. I like to picture myself as unique. Different. _Special._

It's not that I'm conceited – that's just the way I was raised to believe in myself. Not by my mother's hand, but rather under the tutelage of a certain McKinley High teacher named Mr. William Schuester. I was a part of the glee club, along with many other shining lives Mr. Schuester helped to shape – but that's part of another story. One that's written by far more hands than just mine. The fable I give you today is my _special_ story.

It's also a story about a girl. Two girls, actually. And it's also a tale about love.

Years ago, I was a student of Yale. My best friend at the time was educating herself at the New York Academy of Dramatic Arts. _She_ was called Rachel Berry, and _she_ was my shining golden star. She was happy and bubbly and obnoxious and nice, and she was the prettiest hidden diamond of all of Lima, Ohio. We had gone to McKinley together, sang in the glee club side by side, and once we had been bitter rivals. It's a strange feeling, to hate someone's guts but love everything about them at the same time. It sometimes leads you to treat someone with such a despicable amount of disrespect that you learn to hate yourself as well. To be fair to my old self, I had several reasons to 'hate' Rachel Berry.

In high school, I had the dreamy quarterback boyfriend who would, in time, become the love of Rachel Berry's life. I had the thin, pressured, bottled-blonde cheerleader look, while Rachel Berry walked the hallways in her adorable animal sweaters and bright, sparkling eyes full of hope and optimism. I had the unwanted baby in my stomach, while Rachel Berry stole my boyfriend away and grew and grew into the star that she was destined to be. For a while, I was sure I'd never make it out of that small town, dead _or_ alive. But for some reason, this girl who should have hated me as much as I hated and loved _her_ decided to help me. She helped me see the error of my ways, and I realised what sort of a friendship I had been missing out on. The only thing you should plausibly hate about Rachel is that she sometimes talks too much until her toenails reach the back of her throat. Otherwise, she has the gentlest, warmest heart of anyone I have ever known.

Of anyone I ever _will_ know, actually.

Once we both left Lima behind, we visited each other frequently. I remember I used to rush home after every weekend and squibble down our shenanigans in this little pink notebook my mother had gotten me for some Christmas long ago. I used to keep pictures of us as my phone background, and whenever I had to change it, I would transfer them to my laptop and save them in hidden folders. I felt like Rachel Berry was my dirty little secret. I wanted to keep her just for me, to exhaust her of every drop of her sunshine until it filled me up and overflowed onto my outsides; until she saw that I could be as golden as her, and she could love me too. That's why I so keenly remember the Saturday a year or so into our respective studies when she told me about her new boyfriend.

We were walking down the street licking at cones fresh from Big Dip when she suddenly clutched at my arm, her face overtaken with a bright inner glow. She had seemed distracted our whole visit, much to my silent disappointment, and I thought rather smugly that I was finally going to learn why. It was nice, knowing that Rachel Berry felt that she could tell me anything and everything.

"Quinn," she said a little dazedly, "can you keep a secret?"

"Can I?" I drawled. "I think I had the most practice in secret-keeping within our whole group…but what is it, Rachel? Spit it out."

There was an uncertain flicker in her eyes that I caught as soon as it appeared, and one eyebrow stretched up my forehead.

"Who do you think I'm going to tell? My mum?" I joked. The humorous quip hit its spot and she instantly relaxed and laughed.

"No…well…I don't know. But you _have_ to keep it a secret, alright? Just between you and me?"

"You have my _word_," I said a little exasperatedly. Her hand was still on my arm, almost linked around it, and my heart sighed. If only she knew…

"_I have a new boyfriend_," she leaned in close to hiss. A corner of my mouth twitched rather viciously, but fortunately it was the side turned away from her.

"A boyfriend?" I repeated rather blankly. "Rachel, aren't you a little…_busy_ for that?"

NYADA was working towards a recital in September, and I had been practically babbling about it to my friends at Yale, wanting them to witness the glory that was Rachel Berry up close and personal. I felt savagely betrayed for no reason at all, as if she had forgotten to tell me the recital had been cancelled or something. Evidently Rachel herself sensed that something was up, since my reply hadn't been the level of happy she'd expected.

"Busy?" she echoed, a little puzzled. "I mean…I _am_ working hard for the recital, _you_ know that…but is anyone ever really too busy for a – for a little _romance_?"

Oh joy, I thought dully. I hadn't seen this side of Rachel since she had tried to marry Finn Hudson upon graduation.

"I just think that you should focus on your dreams and ambitions first," I drew out evenly. "You know how distracting boys can get, Rachel – and I don't want you going through what I went through."

"You haven't even asked what he's like," my friend whined, the icecream dripping down the cone as she held it unheedingly. "He would _never_ distract me from my dreams. He supports me so much!"

"And what about Finn?" I retorted freezingly. "Weren't you two supposed to find your way back to each other?"

Hurt pooled out over her face and I hated myself for it. I turned, haphazardly holding my own cone from dripping into my hair, and fastened my hand around one of Rachel's. Looking dead into her eyes, I said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I'm happy for you – I really am."

But I wasn't. When I took the train back to my dorm, it took everything I had not to start crying. As it was, my eyes turned a little pink anyway, and people glanced at me uncomfortably, like I was about to suddenly stand up and vent out all my woes to them. When I went to bed that night, I was horribly bitter and even considered deleting all the pictures I had of Rachel and I. I'm glad I didn't go through with that. That would've made me hate myself even more.

In time, I learnt a lot about this guy Rachel was seeing. His name was Daniel. He was a couple of years older than her. He evidently looked like Emile Hirsch. He could sing like Adam Pascal. He had the charm of an American Puss in Boots. He was just as talented as she was. I unconsciously lined this all up with my attributes. Quinn didn't sound as dashing as Daniel. What if Rachel liked her beaus older? Someone had once told me I looked like Rosie O'Donnell from the View. I was hardly the best singer. The only charm I had was pretty fake. I was nowhere near as talented as Rachel Berry.

Let's face it – in comparison to Daniel the Perfect, I was a complete loser.

I could've done a variety of things to ruin this budding relationship. I could've written to Finn Hudson, her old high school sweetheart serving in the military, and worked with him to bring her back into his arms, and maybe closer to mine. I could've met Daniel the Perfect one on one and told him to back off. Maybe lied about her a bit. Maybe I could've lied about him to Rachel. I was capable of all those things, and even more so of carrying them through without a conscience. But the whole point of my beautiful friendship with Rachel Berry was that she would always expect more of me than I did of myself. I couldn't let her down like that. If I was going to do anything, I was going to do it _honourably_.

So, like a pathetic white knight from a long-forgotten fairytale, I hitched up my mare, drew out my lance, and erupted forth to win the affections of the bright gold star of Lima, Ohio.

My beautiful, beautiful,

winsome and wonderful

Rachel Barbra Berry.


	2. Chapter 2

There's nothing I love more in this world than a good cup of hot coffee. The first and most obvious step in my conquest for Rachel Berry's heart was, no matter how painful it was, to admit that I had feelings for her. There was this wild, fanciful part of me that actually thought there was a good chance of her reciprocating my strange and tortured love. That she might completely forget about Daniel the Perfect just to be with old, run-down Quinn Fabray. I know I'm supposed to be smart, but sometimes I can be very, _very_ stupid.

To catch Rachel's fancy, I knew I had to go big, so I invited her out to Café Lalo, one of the most popular coffee houses in New York City. It was the first weekend after she had told me about Daniel, and I was still raw and stinging from some nonexistent betrayal she'd dealt unto me. That was the only thing that powered me into this crazy scheme of telling her that I was kind of sort of in love with her. We sat down at a table inside the bright, beautiful and cosy interior that was the infamous café, with me watching her face all the while.

"Do you like it?" I asked her lightly. "It was featured in some movie – _You've Got Mail_. I thought that would appeal to the glamorous diva that is Rachel Berry."

"Wasn't that…" Dear Rachel's face creased briefly in thought, then lit up in happy realisation. "Tom Hanks and…and Meg Ryan! Oh, this is _wonderful_…"

"One of my friends from Yale suggested it to me." That wasn't true, actually. I had come up with it all by myself, but for some reason I didn't want to admit that. Dropping my eyes to the menu, I cleared my throat and brushed my hair out of my face. "Let's get some coffee."

A short while later (with a café-au-lait for me and an extravagant double mocha cappuccino for Rachel), we were both sitting with our wrists and legs crossed, unconsciously reflecting the other, neither of us quite knowing what to say. I think Rachel realised that something was up, and as for me? I was quietly beginning to chicken out of my whole plan.

"So," I finally said. "How's rehearsals?" And, before I could stop myself, "And Daniel?"

"Rehearsals are great, and…and Daniel's just wonderful," Rachel murmured, lowering her face modestly, her dark lashes fluttering against her cheeks. "He's been _so_ supportive of me, Quinn…if I thought Jesse was a kindred spirit, well…"

"Ah," I said calmly. "The infamous Jesse St. James."

"He's really not that bad, Quinn. We talked at our last nationals. I think he's changed for good."

"Well, it's not Jesse you're head over heels for right now. Is it?"

"No! No, not at all." This brought Rachel's beautiful face back up, her eyes boring earnestly into my own. "I know it's too soon, Quinn – _way_ too soon – but I really think…I can really imagine spending the rest of my life with Daniel. Or, at least, someone _like_ him."

My heart slowly drowned further against my ribs while, somewhere in my mind, Adele struck up an annoying tune.

"Rachel, you're talking like a lovestruck schoolgirl," I said, irritated, dropping my eyes away from her and taking a bitter little sip of my coffee. "I think that's your problem. You fall in love too easily. I still don't think you even know what love _is_."

"_I loved Finn_," Rachel said vehemently. It stunned me, just a little bit. So I challenged her.

"Then tell me," I snapped. "Tell me how you felt around him. Did you think about him night and day? Did you feel like half of you was missing every time he wasn't around?"

"Yes. And I feel like that about Daniel as well."

_Even now?_ I wanted to scream. _Even now that you're sitting here with me?_

"And what about now Finn's gone? You've suddenly stopped feeling like he's your other half? Like every waking moment that he isn't there with you, you just want to quietly go back to sleep and never wake up?"

"Why are you doing this?" Rachel demanded, and there was a strange wetness to her eyes. "B-Back in Lima, all you wanted to do was break us apart. You kept telling me I deserved so much more."

"And you do!" I felt half-crazy, wondering why the nail wouldn't go into her head when I was hammering _so hard_. "Rachel, you _deserve_ – "

"What? _What_ do I deserve?"

I had been about to say _Rachel, you deserve me!_ Like I was some sort of prize that only the luckiest people won. Then it all flashed in front of my eyes – the chaste cheerleader who wouldn't give out for her kind, handsome boyfriend, but went and got knocked up by his rebellious best friend. The pregnant brat who got kicked out of her own loving, Christian home. The cheater, always unable to stay faithful to one man. All the biting, horrible things I had said to Rachel, who was supposed to be the love of my life. The words choked up in my throat, and I could only stare across at this oblivious, confused girl opposite me. Nobody _deserves_ me! I'm not a prize! I'm horrible. Horrible, horrible, horrible. Who could ever want _me_?

"You deserve your dreams," I finally said, softly. "You deserve only the greatest things waiting in store for you. Romance isn't _everything_, Rachel. Sometimes…sometimes it just holds you back."

She looked at me so strangely, and I hated it. It was as if I had suddenly changed in front of her, and no longer was I the intellectual blonde beauty, but some broken bat-winged creature peering out of the cobwebs of its true form. I wanted to lower my eyes again and look away from her doubting stare, but I was too stubborn.

"And would it hold you back to just be happy for me for once?"

I nearly gasped. That's how painful it was, hearing her say that. It began to hurt behind my eyes, and my mouth became very, very dry. I glanced down at my hand, and it was shaking. Ever so slightly.

"I can't," I finally said. "I can't, Rachel. I'm sorry."

I drew up to my feet, and her eyes followed me, then her torso, twisting around so that she could latch a hand onto the back of her chair as I tried to escape that horrible, confining space that was the café. All other eyes were on me, vexed and disturbed.

"Quinn, wait!" the love of my life cried. "Where are you going?"

I whirled around on my heel, and I could feel a tear form at the corner of my right eye.

"Why can't you _see_?" I begged her. Before she could respond, I flew away, too scared to confront the seeds that I had sown. When I reached the street outside, I was full-out crying. I just hoped she wasn't watching me – even though everyone else was. With my head bowed down and my teeth gritting together, I followed the thread of late-night workers who were heading for the subway.

I guess I managed to get on the train back to Yale, though I don't really remember any of it. What I do remember, and what will haunt me for the rest of my life, is a meeting I had with someone on the way to my dorm. I was still kind of crying, still not really looking where I was going – and thus I bumped into someone who, if I could go back in time, I would un-bump into.

"Whoa," he drawled, holding his arms out to steady me. He looked harmless then. Fair hair, nice face, mellow eyes. I didn't really want to talk to anyone then, so I was far more brusque with him than I would have been at any other time. "You alright, Fabray?"

"How do you know my name?" I snapped, brushing his hands off of me. Doubtless my eyes were puffed and bright scarlet. I glared at him, but I didn't recognise him at all.

"We take the same classes," he said with an easy little half-smile. "I guess you never noticed me."

"I guess not."

"Are you alright?" he asked, bending his head slightly to get a good look at my face. He was a full head taller than me, which annoyed me even more. I hated it when people made me feel _less_ in any extent.

"I'm _fine_," I snapped, making to move past him, and he very kindly backed away, holding his hands up in the air. A few seconds later and I regretted being so rude, so I turned and stared at him. "Who are you?"

"My friends call me Franky," he said with that half-smile of his. "I've been watching you – not in a creepy way or anything. You just seem like a really interesting person."

I didn't really know how to react to that. After peering at him uncertainly for a moment, I rolled my eyes and looked away, dragging my feet so that I could finally convince myself to get away from him and his time-mongering. "Yeah well, trust me," I said, "I'm not that big of a deal."

He didn't follow me, which is something to be thankful for. Tales of college misdemeanours had always put me on edge whenever I travelled back to my dorm in the dark. It's frustrating that, as a woman, I can never feel safe on the streets. I always have to make sure that my clothes aren't too revealing. That that man by the corner isn't following me. It's something that a lot of people I know have referred to as 'rape culture', and if I was granted one wish – anything that could change the world – I would eliminate the very concept of sexual harassment.

Ah well. _If only._

* * *

The next day was a Sunday. Usually I loved Sundays. Sundays meant waking up on Rachel Berry's sofa, or lying in my own bed and dreaming about her and my adventures on Saturday. Sundays were when I could lean my head on some wall and convince myself that I had a shot at winning that girl's obnoxiously slippery heart. I looked forward to Sundays.

Not this one.

Waking up, I felt like I had a hangover even when I hadn't been drinking. My head throbbed and pulsed in the most horrible way, and I crept out of bed to brew up a cup of coffee without disturbing my roomie. Coffee, though, only reminded me of what had happened at Café Lalo, which just made me want to grab my own skull and bash it repeatedly against the kitchenette counter. How could I have lost control of myself like that? How could I have even thought I stood a chance with Rachel? I brooded and brooded, then resigned myself to reading and studying for the rest of the day. The less I thought of yesterday's debacle, the better.

Strange how that logic works, though, isn't it? You believe that if you think less of something, gradually it will leave you alone. Very wrong. Instead, it burrows a hole into a corner of your mind and slowly sucks away your attention from whatever you want to pay it to. I realised that I wasn't going to forgive myself for what I had done unless I met Rachel face to face and apologised. Maybe fifteen more minutes of struggling with myself, then I stood up, called out to my roomie that I was leaving, grabbed my jacket and purse, and Quinn Fabray left the building.

Quinn Fabray left the building and ran _ri-i-i-ight_ into Rachel Berry.

My purse went flying in an arc over my counterpart's head, and the silver canteen _she_ had been holding dropped to the ground with an inelegant _bump_. My first instinct was to curse, but Rachel has this way of rendering me speechless even in the times that I want to scream loudest. So I just stared at her, my hands splayed awkwardly at my sides, while she fussed and knelt and gathered everything to her chest. She was in a pretty striped shawl, tangled in and out with every colour your imagination could come up with. Her favourite style of droopy hat was nestled against her dark locks in a light cream colour, and below her shawl was a simple red knee-length dress. A far cry from the highschooler who loved animal sweaters and knee-high socks.

"_What are you doing here?_" I demanded. It wasn't that I was mad at her. I was just really shocked. She straightened up and held my purse out towards me, a hesitant smile quirking up the corners of her mouth.

"I – I was coming to see you," she stammered, before realising she was stating the obvious. "I…I mean. To apologise. For last night."

"Apologise?" I repeated, holding my purse close. "Why should _you_ apologise? I was being a total _bitch_…"

"No," Rachel said quickly. "You were right. I was acting like a…like a little schoolgirl. And I'm not anymore. I just…I guess I was always a romantic at heart."

But she was still looking at me strangely, like she had been looking at me the night before. Licking my dry lips, I averted my eyes.

"Do you wanna go for a walk?" I asked quickly. "I could show you around the best of New Haven."

"I'd like that," Rachel said, even quicker than me. Her smile seemed to turn the sky above a shade brighter than it really was.

In the end, it was like taking a starstruck tourist around by the hand. I walked her through the YaleUniversityArtGallery, and told her about the Long Wharf Theatre where they featured Broadway shows. That brought a lovely sparkle to her eyes. We even walked through a cemetery, holding hands innocently, keeping very quiet. I'm surprised she didn't see yet how painfully in love I was with her, and how I had been for years. I'm surprised she didn't notice back when I'd admitted to drawing pornographic caricatures of her on our school's bathroom walls (long story, don't ask). Finally, we sat down in a park and Rachel remembered why she had brought her canteen with her. It was soup, she said, but she was angry at herself because it must have gone tepid.

"It was going to be a sort of peace offering," she explained, her free hand fluttering everywhere as she frowned down at the open canteen. I was leaning over her shoulder and saw bright red tomato soup. "I know how you like your soups."

"You're an angel," I said without thinking. She just smiled, bright and oblivious as ever.

"D'you remember that one time I dressed Brittany and Santana up in angel wings for my _Run, Joey, Run_ video?" she laughed, eyes misted over with the memory. "I was so _naïve_ then…and I'm pretty sure everyone _hated_ it."

"I thought it was very artistic," I said gravely. "Once I…got past the part where you were trying to juggle three guys at once."

"One of them being your ex-boyfriend and the other one being the father of your baby…"

"_Go-o-o-ood_ times."

"We've come so far, haven't we?" Rachel smiled. "I can hardly think we're the same people as we were back then."

"Well," I said, "people are allowed to change. Their personalities…their feelings…it's just the memories that stay as they are."

"Even memories might change," Rachel murmured dreamily. "Depending on how you look at them."

I reached out for her hand and fastened my fingers around hers, and she squeezed back. Yet it was the cordial squeeze of a good friend, not the intimate reassurance of a lover.

"I really don't know where I'd be without you, Rachel," I told her. "You've really changed my life for the best."

"_Because I knew you_," Rachel sang quietly, "_I have been changed for good…_"

I had to reach over for the canteen and suggest we down some of the soup before it got too cold. Otherwise I might have stared at her too long, started to tear up, or just blurted out how perfect she was. By the time we were done with our merry ramblings and reminisces, the sky was turning dark and Rachel announced she had to get home.

"I still get a little antsy walking home in the dark," she explained. "I don't know how you do it – you're so brave."

"I'm just not paranoid," I stated with a laugh. But when I saw her off at the station, I came outside to a sight that made me a little queasy. A red corvette was parked on the pavement, and in the driver's seat was none other than the mysterious Franky. He looked like he was waiting for somebody, so I turned my back on him and quickly began to trot away. A few seconds later, the vehicle rumbled up next to me.

"Need a lift, Fabray?" he asked me in his easy manner, one arm draped carelessly over the wheel as he leaned forward to get a good look at me. I stopped and smiled at him politely.

"No thanks. It's only a short walk back to my dorm."

"I wouldn't call it short," he commented. "C'mon. I'm just giving you a lift."

"Not yet you aren't. I like the walk. Another time, Franky."

"Hey." His face lit up, almost boyishly. "Fabray remembered my name!"

I started walking again, looking over my shoulder to tell him, "I _do_ have a first name, you know."

Again the corvette rose up to a slow crawl, trundling along beside me. I tried to hide my annoyance. What was this guy trying to do, anyway?

"I only caught your last. What is it?"

"My last name's Fabray."

"No. I meant your first."

"Lucy," I said blankly. It wasn't completely a lie. Quinn is my middle name – I just prefer to go by it rather than Lucy.

"You don't look like a Lucy," he observed. _Gee, thanks._

"And you don't look like you heard my answer. I said I don't need a ride. Later, Franky."

He followed me for a little more, but I just walked quicker and didn't spare him anymore glances. Finally, the message hit home and he curved away. I hadn't realised that my heart was beating a little too quickly for its own good. Settling my hand over it, I rolled my eyes at myself. So much for not being paranoid. And besides, Franky hardly looked intimidating – just a cute dork who was a little on the desperate side. I once knew a cute dork who he reminded me of, actually. His name was Sam Evans, and there was admittedly a time when I thought I was in love with him. Gentlest boy you'd ever know when it came to a relationship. He even sort of proposed to me.

But that time's long gone by, and I've changed a lot.

Besides, Franky was no Sam Evans.


	3. Chapter 3

"What happened to you and Joe, anyway?"

"What?"

I'd surprised Rachel by turning up out of the blue late on a Friday, whisking her away for a girl's night out after her classes at NYADA. If she was tired, she didn't show it. We had been strolling through a mall, stopping to have a look every now and then at some appealing dress or pair of shoes on display, when she brought up that old flame of mine. _Joe Hart._ He'd been a sophomore to my senior back at McKinley, and we'd connected very well, but…

"Nothing happened," I said. "If I hooked up with every boy who made eyes at me, I might as well never get out of bed."

Naturally, that made me think of Franky. He'd been making me uncomfortable during the last week, coming up to me before and after classes, trying to get as close to me as humanly possible. He'd figured out I didn't actually go by Lucy (which is a shame), and he regularly spouted off that Quinn was _such_ a pretty name in comparison. I couldn't count on both hands just how many times I'd wanted to crack a textbook down over his creepy blonde skull.

"That's true," Rachel giggled. "You're such a beautiful girl, Quinn. I'm surprised you haven't found a boyfriend at Yale…"

"Maybe I'm gay," I said flatly. The look on her face made me smirk. Oh, oblivious, oblivious Rachel Berry. "What? It's a possibility. Am I not allowed to be _gay_?"

Passers-by were shooting us uncomfortable stares, and I could see that Rachel wasn't appreciating the attention whatsoever. That irritated me. If she could vouch for gay rights in the narrow-minded corridors of McKinley High, then she should be able to do the very same in the wide streets of New York City. Arching an eyebrow at her, I paused in sifting through a rack of fancy dresses and cocked my head.

"Rachel, you're practically _living_ in the city of _gay_," I reprimanded her. "Please don't tell me you've abandoned the rainbow revolution."

"N-No, of course not," she said quickly, unaware that she was jerking the same ruffled blue dress to and fro on the rack. "I just…never considered that you…might not be _straight_…"

"Why?" I asked innocently, while slyly glancing at her through my lashes. "Would that make a difference?"

Her face blushed a brilliant scarlet, but her eyes had scaled over my head. Confused, I turned. Right behind me, looking far more amused than I liked, was a well-built kid with hair as dark and curly as Rachel's on a good day. I was about to ask him what he was staring at when my beautiful companion managed to stammer out, "Daniel!"

"Hey," he said with a sheepish grin, lifting one hand in a half-hearted wave. I admit I was rather rude then. I stared at him with open mouth, all etiquette thrown completely out the window. What was Rachel's boyfriend doing here? Impeding on _my_ special time with her? I'm sure you probably already know that I'm often subject to petty jealousies and vicious grudges. In about one-point-five seconds, Daniel the Perfect – if he hadn't been on there already – had signed up to join Quinn Fabray's hit-list.

"Um – Quinn, this is Daniel," Rachel babbled, circling out from behind the rack of dresses to stand awkwardly between myself and her _boyfriend_. "Daniel, this is my friend – my _best_ friend – Quinn Fabray."

I lifted my chin ever so slightly, while the kind-looking boy sprouted a very excited grin.

"So _you're_ the one I've heard all about," he said, using the same hand he had waved with to reach out and try and shake my hand. "Wow, you're just as pretty as Rach said you were – I mean, um – if it's okay for me to say that – "

"It's fine," Rach stammered quickly, while I finally brought it out of myself to rigidly take Daniel's hand and shake it once or twice.

"She's told me all about you as well," I said coolly. "NYADA classmates, right?"

"That's right." That stupid grin of his wasn't going away. "And you're – you're a Yale girl, yeah?"

"That's right." I smiled thinly.

"That's amazing. I mean…I mean, you look really smart. Can people look…really smart…?" He looked at Rachel here for guidance. If he hadn't been her boyfriend, thus earning my hatred for the rest of eternity, I might have found him funny and charming and…well, a total dork.

"Yes," Rachel supplied. "Yes, they can. And Quinn certainly does." She clasped her hands in front of her skirt and shot me the brightest smile, and I thought, _I should be happy for her. If I love her, I can be happy for her._ So I smiled too, then redirected my gaze back to Daniel.

"Well, you look pretty _smart_ as well." It almost hurt my teeth to be so friendly to him, but there. I'd done it. Maybe it would get easier from then on.

"Nah, honest, I…" He had a bit of a country drawl, colouring him even more charming. "I'm not that smart. Rachel can attest to that. I just…sing and live, I guess."

"Oh, but he's a _fantastic_ singer," Rachel intervened, gesturing wildly. "No-one can say a bad word about him when he steps up onto a stage and grabs a microphone. You should hear him sometime, Quinn."

"Yeah, I'll be singing at the recital. You know, if you're coming."

"Of _course_ I'm coming," I said as sweetly as possible, smiling wide. "I wouldn't miss Rachel for anything."

"And…and, um, what about you?" Daniel looked between Rachel and I, then finally stopped on me. "Do you sing? Rachel said you could sing. That was a stupid question, I already – "

"Yes. I do." I breathed in deeply. "We should find a _proper_ somewhere to talk."

"Oh! About that." Daniel dug a hand into one of his pockets, drawing out two slips that looked like tickets. I frowned at them, confused. "Um, well, I was going to the movies with a couple of my guy friends…and they bailed…and I texted Rach and she said you might wanna…"

"You knew he was coming here and you didn't tell me?" I asked, turning towards my 'best friend'. I knew my indignance looked ridiculous, and that I shouldn't have been indignant in the first place, but since when did anyone have any control over what they deeply, deeply felt? I surprised her by showing up on Friday, expecting to have her all to myself for a special, special time, only to be, bluntly put, cockblocked. It was a vicious little sting.

"I…didn't think you'd mind…" Her voice was faltering, and her eyes pleading. I stared at her, and the little hidden part of me that I _promise you_ is actually a good person mentally shook me and reminded me once again that I should be happy for her. She was this shiny-eyed, full-lipped, inquisitive little _woman_ with all the vitality of a five-year-old child – the equivalent of an angel – wondering and wondering why I couldn't just smile whenever something _good_ happened to her that wasn't brought about by _me_. Every ounce of resentment I bore Daniel was letting her down. I couldn't live with myself if I kept that up.

"I don't," I said firmly. "It's just…I don't like being surprised. Don't mind me." I turned a bright smile to Daniel. "I'd _love_ to go to the movies with you guys."

"Great," he said, his grin returning full-swing. "I mean, I'll…I'll pay for everything. If you want anything. Popcorn…Pepsi…"

"I'll pass," I said, actually laughing. I missed the hesitant downcast of Rachel's eyes before she echoed me, otherwise I might have caught onto something I should have noticed much, much sooner.

* * *

We came out of the theatre laughing, something I hadn't expected. I wish I _could_ have hated Dan. I'm pretty sure you're doing something wrong when you get along so well with the guy who steals away that girl you've been in love with for years, but the thing is he was one of those people born under the lucky stars and blessed with every quirk that makes an individual likeable. He was self-deprecating but not to the point that it became annoying; he stammered and stuttered but you didn't have to ask him to repeat himself, because he made you listen so intently that you got it pretty clear the first time round, mumbling or no. He couldn't keep still. His hands were always moving. One time during the movie I even caught him sitting on them. All in all, I don't think Dan understood _how_ to be arrogant, or mean, or anything that would have made me kick his ass for trying to steal away Rachel Berry's sunshine. He was just one of _those_ people. You know. The ones you wish you could be like.

And that's what would make things so hard for me in the days to come, but in that moment, on that night, I was actually purely and utterly _happy_. It felt right to just be Rachel's friend, even if she would never truly know how deeply I cared for her. It felt right for Dan to be there with us. Around him, I didn't feel shady for holding my best friend's hand. For being physical with either of them. He didn't judge. He didn't assume. Maybe if he had known how I felt towards Rachel, he wouldn't have been so kind to me. But he hadn't. And he was.

"It's getting late," I finally said. We had walked around the block from the cinema, simply talking for as long as we could talk. I wouldn't have minded that going on forever. "I should catch my train back."

"Nonononononono," Rachel said swiftly, latching onto my arm. "You're staying with _me_. We're going to have a girl's night in, and Dan's not invited."

"Ow-w-w-w. That's okay, though." His infectious little grin returned. "I'm all tired out."

"Thank you," I found myself saying sincerely. "For the wonderful night."

"Nah, it's nothing…but it was a real pleasure meeting you, Quinn Fabray."

When we parted ways, I didn't say anything. I just shot a sideways glance at Rachel's expectant face and smiled a grudging, approving smile. That was all she needed. Her face lit up like a flower in bloom, and I was left melancholy and wishing it could have been _me_ she was seeking approval over.

"I was so worried you wouldn't like him," she confessed when we were standing on either side of the bed in her flat, plumping out the mattress and re-settling the blankets – generally preparing to make a fort, like the kids we were. "And…and for a moment back there, I really thought you didn't."

"I _was_ upset," I admitted. "I wanted to spend time with you and just _you_, Rachel. That's why I came out before the weekend."

"But it turned out alright, didn't it? It wasn't such a bad idea, us three together…"

The fort made, we snuggled up together side by side inside it, our bare feet touching and her breath tickling my cheek. For a moment, I felt disgusting and crude. Even if she didn't know about my romantic intentions, _I _did. Here I was, the expert at cheating, cuddling up to Dan's girlfriend on her very own bed. The self-loathing passed when Rach reached out for my hand.

"What's wrong?" she asked quietly. "We've known each other for so long…I can tell when you're upset, you know."

I considered not answering, but she refused to let my hand go, or to look away from me. Finally, I asked quietly, "Why did you look so scared? Back at the mall. When you thought I didn't like him."

It was her turn to take her time answering, wiggling her toes in thought, chewing on one corner of her lip in that adorable Rachel way. Then she sighed.

"You don't know how much I've always looked up to you, Quinn," she said in a low voice. "How much I've always strived for your approval. I know it shouldn't be that way. I know I should be more confident. But I know that…that if you _had_ hated Daniel, a part of me wouldn't have been able to live with that. I'd have felt like…like I'd let you down."

"Rachel, you could never let me down."

"That's not true. There's always a way to let someone down." There was a bitter smile in her voice. "Even you, Quinn. You've hardly loved me _forever_…"

_You don't even know_, I thought. _You don't even know the half of it._

"But that was the past. This is now. And I love you, Rachel Berry."

"I love you too, Quinn," she said, but her voice was distant. "I love you very much."

* * *

I lay awake for hours with her curled up beside me in the fort, sound asleep and breathing as steadily as the ocean, coming and going. A part of me wanted to just cry and cry and throw a tantrum, but there was also that part of me that wanted to admire her and all her delicious little curves, rising and falling along with her heartbeat, as she slept. Really, which one is more worthwhile? Crying yourself to sleep, or admiring Rachel Berry? I shifted a hand over her face, brushing dark locks away from her closed eyes. She murmured something unintelligible, twitched, then reverted back to her sweet dreams.

"_I love you very much_," I whispered, belatedly echoing her earlier words. Oh, had she meant it? Could she possibly, possibly have meant it? If she had, I wished she had said it more passionately. More _convincingly_.

Her phone, a hand's width away from her, began to flash, and I grabbed it before it could wake her up. Gleaming on the lit screen was a goodnight text from Daniel, complete with hearts and kiss marks. And there, at the end, "i love u."

_But when is it my turn?_ I wondered as I set the device down, face to the mattress. _When will she really, really…love _me_?_


	4. Chapter 4

During the following months, my great white horse stopped galloping and slowed to a very depressed walk. Rachel was happy with Daniel. That was the stark and sad truth of it all. She sometimes brought up (jokingly) how I had said I was gay at the mall. I dodged those occasions with all the elegance of Julie Andrews at her best. Rachel would have been proud of me if she'd _really_ known – and it was so strange to keep so much from the girl I was accustomed to telling everything to! But she couldn't know, could she? She wouldn't _want_ to know. I didn't want to make her life complicated like that.

"What's wrong?" Franky asked me one day. I'd gradually accepted him as some kind of friend, albeit one that I should be incredibly wary of. He caught me playing the piano in one of the rooms at the University Theatre. I had been trying to sing quietly, but somehow he'd followed my muffled little voice all the way to where I sat. "You've kind of lost your smile these last few months. It physically hurts to see you this sad."

"I'm not sad," I said defiantly, never mind that I had felt like there was a tsunami behind my eyes all week, including that very moment then and there. "It's just my time of the month. That's all."

"Yeah right." He was leaning against the piano, watching me with those deceptively gentle eyes of his. I had seen the way girls flocked around him, looking for any excuse to play with his hair or get him to strum on his guitar for them. That guitar was in a case slung over his back while we talked. He saw me looking at it, so took it off his shoulders and laid it across the top of the piano. Then he went to sit by my feet. "Tell me," he said. "Tell me what's wrong, Quinn."

"Nothing's wrong," I tried to insist, but he cut me off by reaching for my hands. When he did that, a moment of doubt crossed over my pre-existing judgement of him. Maybe he wasn't that bad, I told myself. Maybe all those girls were fawning over him for a good reason. At the same time, I wondered if I was really actually fully _gay_ to not feel anything when he stared up at me with those sweet blue eyes of his. He was the type of guy I would have fallen for instantly back in high school – the good-looking, popular, slightly dumb…had I really changed that much?

"I'm not an idiot, you know," he was saying. "I know you don't trust me. And hey, I don't blame you. I must have seemed like a creep to begin with, and maybe I still do…but I want you to know that you can tell me _anything_, Quinn. I'll be your punching-bag when you need one. I know what it's like to have so much to say, but have nobody there to hear any of it. It sucks. And I don't want you to feel like that's the only option open to you."

"Well, what other option _is_ there?" I demanded petulantly, glowering at him. "_You_ wouldn't understand."

"Won't I?" Franky challenged. "Let me guess. It's a girl."

My head snapped up and I stared at him, right in those eyes that had laid many a silly damsel across her bedroom floor, weeping. There was actual, genuine, _frustrated_ pain in his eyes as he stared right back at me; a pain that I felt for someone else. Someone dear and near and who you all know very well – someone who wasn't him. Just seeing that pain in his eyes told me that he _would_ understand. He would understand very well.

"How did you know?" I asked quietly, not even having the energy to retract my hands from his grip. To his credit, he managed to smile without looking too bitter.

"You must think it's not very obvious, but when you're with her, you never look at anything else. Never even seem to think of anything other than her."

"I…don't think I do."

"That's the kind of love you read about, but never think you'll actually feel, right? But when you look into her eyes – when you really _look_ – all she does is…see right through you." He accompanied the last sentence with a gesture, releasing one of my hands to illustrate a breeze sweeping over his head. I lowered my eyes, trying to keep that tsunami back, but as the seconds trickled by, it was becoming harder and harder to do.

"So what is there to do?" I asked hoarsely. "If it's all so _hopeless_?"

"I never said it was hopeless, did I? Hey." He cupped my face gently, forcing me to look at him. "In the end…you've just gotta keep trying. A love like that, man…you don't let it go just for nothing. You don't do that."

The tears had begun to spill down my cheeks, and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. A shield seemed to have dropped over his eyes when he looked up at me again. The pain was gone. They had turned strangely blank, strangely defensive and just…strange. They reminded me why I felt so uncomfortable around him, when he had been so genuine only a few moments before.

"When I came in here, you were singing," he said, standing up. I already knew what he was about to say when he reached for his guitar. "Would you do me the honour, Quinn Fabray, of singing with me?"

I just smiled at him, expecting him to start playing a song I didn't even know. I could hardly sing along then, could I? But to my surprise, the moment his fingers hit the guitar, I recognised the tune. It was _If Only_, by Fiction Plane. One of my favourite songs, and one of the songs that broke my heart the most in all the world. I started singing, determined to impress but also keen to unleash all the bottled-up pain and misery inside of me. Franky had lied – he didn't sing _with_ me. He simply watched as I let my soul dance alongside his guitar strings, and in that moment, no matter what he would do in the future, we connected.

"…_if only, if only_," I finished, my voice trailing off alongside Franky's guitar. Our eyes met, and I knew that he hadn't chosen that song just for me. He'd chosen it for himself as well. Wordlessly, I slipped off of the piano stool and stood on tip-toes to kiss him on the cheek.

"Thank you," I whispered. Then I brushed past him, thinking it best to leave him as he was, because I knew I could never reciprocate those feelings he so obviously had for me. Not so long as Rachel Berry lived and breathed in this world. I glanced back once but he hadn't really moved. He still stood with his back to me, leaning slightly on the piano, head bowed.

And he embodied everything I had ever felt in my life.


	5. Chapter 5

Franky was a major part in getting my white horse back onto its feet, but not the _only_ part. By this time, Rachel had been practising for her NYADA recital for ages, and I'd been crossing off all the days on the calendar until I could finally see her shine on stage again. When that day finally came, I was _delighted_ to find out I wouldn't be the _only_ one jumping up and down in my seat, pointing at Rachel Berry and proclaiming to anyone who would listen that I had known her since high school.

Kurt Hummel and Santana Lopez were two of the most fabulously gay people I had ever met, and, as you already well know, I had also known _them_ since high school, and together we were…well, _kind of_ fans of Rachel Berry. It had taken Santana a long time to getting around to liking the sometimes obnoxious (but adorably so) brunette prima donna, and even Kurt, though he would hardly admit it now, had had some trouble finding a kindred spirit in her bright doe eyes – but glee club had formed a solid and unbreakable connection between all of us, and we weren't about to let distance ruin those shackles. The thought of reuniting on the very night New York would surely realise just how talented Rachel was? Absolutely beautiful.

And it kept on being beautiful even before I had stepped out of the taxi in front of the theatre. My friend - my beautiful friend - Rachel Berry was going to perform in front of _hundreds_ of New York socialites! I was probably more nervous for her than she was. My heart was up in my throat as the taxi drove away, while I clutched my purse to my chest and stared up at the tall, elegant building that would soon bear witness to the birth of a new star. It took my breath away. A steady line of theatre-goers were entering the building at a stately pace, all fancily dressed and smiling and, oh. I knew Rachel would love them. She would love looking out from her magnificent stage and seeing all those happy faces peering up at her in adoration. I breathed in deeply and moved to join them. I had bought some new heels for the occasion, and thankfully I didn't roll an ankle in them. That would have been a great damper.

A few minutes into the line and I was dazedly looking around for Kurt and Santana, anxious to find them and not be left alone in a sea of strangers. It was well after I had been nudged into the building and was waiting for the theatre to open that I heard the both of them, very loudly, debating which of them looked fancier than the other. I recognised their voices at once and turned on the spot to find them. They weren't very hard to locate. Not just because I could recognise them from a mile away, but because, well…_neither_ of them were very fancy.

With all the elegance of a cat if it had been forced to keep spikes in the pads of its paws, I hobbled my way towards my two old friends, arms outstretched. Instead of any reasonable and recogniseable name coming out of my mouth, I squealed long and loud and tackled their throats with the crooks of my arms, holding them close and trying to bottle in what felt like a terrifying explosion of excitement and love and countless other things I had not felt in such extremities since I'd left the nostalgic hallways of McKinley High.

"Quinn!" Kurt managed, somehow. I think I was choking him almost as much as I was choking Santana, who dug her sharp crimson nails into the flesh of my left arm and managed to find some breathing space. "Ohmygod, you look so beautiful!" And he returned my embrace with warm enthusiasm while Santana wrested free for a moment to study me. Then she grinned and she hugged me, too, and all I could do was stand there limply and, well, wonder if my face was really going to split apart at the seams like it felt like it was doing.

"It's been so long," I gasped, finally pulling away from them. "How are you guys?"

"Great, fine, and - " Catching a disapproving look cast towards him from a primmer and better-dressed lady, Kurt giggled. "And still sticking out like a sore thumb."

He might not have been in fancy dress, but there was no denying his sense of style. A smart brown corduroy jacket clung to his lithe frame with a delicate, almost tailor-made fitness, and below was a crease-free white shirt with its collar held straight up to his elfin jaw. Santana made me cringe just a little more. Her tight black dress was more appropriate for a night in a dance club, with its skirt ending a bit too high above her knees. Despite that, I'd never seen her look more content with life than she did in that moment, with her jet-black hair curled so cleanly and swept foxily over one shoulder, and her eyes gleaming with a keen lustre.

"Oh, let them stare," she said loftily, tilting her chin up and smiling at me with one corner of her mouth. "I'm sure Quinn's been attracting plenty of her own attention, dressing up like that for Rachel Berry."

There she went. If you saw life through Santana Lopez goggles, there would be lesbians at every corner. Even in your cup of coffee. "And I think you derailed into dressing for Brittany," I replied, deadpan, smoothing my hands over my skirt. It wasn't anything special, really, or particularly recommended for seducing anyone. It was simple, plum-coloured, and the skirt flared out to below my knees in a more appropriate fashion than Santana's. If anything, it was the perfect little wallflower dress, and I was quite happy to keep it that way.

"Well, if I had to choose between that and seeing Rachel Berry perform onstage..."

I held up a hand to stop her. "Don't finish that," I told her. I turned back and forth on my heel until I spotted a good place for us to sit down. There was an elaborate fountain staged in the centre of the theatre foyer, and I took a hold of their hands and drew them towards it. Nearby was a drinks machine, as if it had suddenly sprung up for our very convenience. "How have you two been?" I asked. "Tell me all your secrets."

"Slow down, tiger," Santana scoffed. "I've heard enough of Kurt's secrets tonight, _and_ mine. I want to know what _Quinn Fabray_'s been up to these last few months."

"Any new boyfriends...?" Kurt suggested, a little too hopeful. And on the opposite spectrum...

"Or _girlfriends_?" Santana questioned bluntly. I candidly busied myself with digging a few quarters out of my purse as I headed for the drinks machine.

"No and no," I finally said, punctuating each word with the clatter of a quarter as it fell into the slot. "You guys want a soda?"

"Sure."

"How about Rachel?" Kurt asked. "She's been hinting at some fabulous new _beau_ of hers..."

I have to say that I kept an enviable poker face throughout all of this. One of the many skills that I possess, I suppose. I retrieved two of the sodas and handed one to Kurt, while Santana dug out her own.

"He's nice," I said vaguely. "An adorable little Southern gentleman."

"Does he look like Finn?" Santana asked daintily, and I glanced at her sharply.

"Not at all. Rachel's not such a low-life that she would be hung up on Finn Hudson."

"_Ooh_," Santana quipped. "Feisty."

Kurt was a little more indignant. "Why the hostility towards Finn?" We sat down together on the edge of the fountain. The paper cup of soda felt as though it was burning my palm from how cold it was, and I resisted the urge to lift it up to a level with my forehead. "Did something happen that he didn't tell me about?"

"No," I said wearily. "Nothing happened. I just always thought Rachel was too good for him."

"What does that say about you?" San commented, one eyebrow arching up languidly. "He's _your_ ex-boyfriend, too."

"I don't know. What _does_ it say about me?"

"I think it says that everyone has their own opinions concerning my occasionally dense step-brother," Kurt interjected hastily. "He's had his ups and his downs and, well, it's none of our business who chooses to love him."

I wanted to argue that it _was_ our business if Finn was the completely wrong match for the person in question, but I had long ago learnt that hasty outbursts would never get me anywhere other than my friends' burn books, and that ninety-nine percent of the time, they disagreed with me, anyway. So I just raised my eyebrows jadedly and nodded. Santana was a lot better at reading my expressions than Kurt was, and she hid a knowing smile behind a sip of her soda.

"How long until the show starts?" she asked when she resurfaced, and I looked up at the clock on the opposite wall, about a thousand feet above everyone else.

"Ten more minutes," I said, and a rush of adrenaline tackled me as blurred snapshots of Rachel in her dressing-room came into my head. How nervous was she? Or was she nervous at all? Was she confident that she had everything in the bag? Did she have her doubts? I wished I could be there with her, even as a transparent spirit that she wouldn't be able to see. But then again, maybe it would be better for me to be there physically, so that I could hold her hand and talk her out of a Berry-esque anxiety attack and convince her that everything would be _just fine_.

"There's so many people," Kurt murmured against his cup, wide-eyed as he watched a fresh onslaught of theatre-goers sweep past us. I sadly thought to myself that he could have been backstage with Rachel, too, if fate had been kind to him. He had sent in his NYADA application at the same time as she had, but for some strange reason, his talent had been overlooked. Sometimes it seemed as though he'd forgotten all about it, but I knew that it still niggled at him. Kurt Hummel never settled for anything less than the brightest spotlight.

"Well, we better stand up and get in line," I said briskly, rising to my feet. I would have liked nothing more than to stay by that fountain and exchange all the latest news with my two old friends, but unfortunately we couldn't watch the show from that comfortable little seat. As Kurt faltered behind to drag his ticket out of the depths of his wallet, Santana fell into step beside me, gazing at me curiously.

"Back to that Finn thing," she began slowly. "I actually thought you guys were cool now. Especially since Rachel has a new boyfriend who may or may not look like him. Why do you still hate him so much?"

"It's not _hate_. I just don't like what he tried to turn her into."

"Well, he's nowhere near her now. You should take a breather and try to relax."

I laughed. "You make everything sound so easy, Santana. I envy you."

"I make easy things sound easy. Because they're easy." We stopped at the end of the line blossoming in front of the doors leading into the grand hall. "And I _know_ you, Q. You make a big deal out of every little thing."

"I do not."

"Yes, you do. For instance, your very obvious crush on Rachel Berry."

I was glad the soda was nowhere near my mouth, or I might have spat it all out on the front of her very suggestive dress. Kurt didn't seem to have heard us, his thumb criss-crossing rapidly over his smartphone screen. Probably texting Blaine.

"_Could_ you talk any louder?" I hissed. I was met with a very smug smirk.

"Oh, sure. I could scream it for Rachel to hear if you'd like me to."

"It's not something I can just walk up to her and say, alright? She has a boyfriend. Sorry to say that I gave up on sabotaging relationships back in high school."

"I didn't say you should go up and tell her," Santana sniffed. "I just said that you're making a big deal out of it."

"And how _exactly_ can I make it any smaller?"

"First, you can say goodbye to denial and walk out of that extremely suffocating closet you've managed to get yourself into. You're practically a Christmas cherub. Every boy in a five-mile radius is going to keep hitting on you until you broadcast your clear lesbian signal."

"You sound ridiculous," I told her stiffly. She tilted her head at me with an arched eyebrow.

"I'm just _sayin'_. Make your intentions loud and clear. Maybe Rachel will wake up out of her Prince Charming bubble and actually notice what everyone else finds _completely_ obvious."

"Everyone else - ?" I looked quickly between her and Kurt. I couldn't tell if he was smiling at his texts, or at me.

"Yes, Portia de Rossi. Everyone else. You're not exactly _subtle_ when you like someone. Either you have an affair with them and make lots of babies, or you stare at them with sultry, glowering eyes from six feet away in a hallway showdown. I think you've had at least _three_ of those with Rachel...the showdowns, I mean. Not the babies..."

I forced through my teeth, "_Can_ we not talk about this right now?"

"Yeah, I guess it's bad timing. You'll be blushing like the red dot on the flag of Japan by the time she comes onstage. That might get her attention, though."

I turned sharply on my heel to glare at Santana. "The only attention _I_ should be getting from her is as a _friend_. Do I want Rachel Berry as my girlfriend? Of _course_ I do - but I want it to happen naturally. _Nobly_. Not while she still has the nicest guy in the world singing her favourite duets with her and making all her dreams come true. I'm not like that anymore."

"So what if they never break up? What if it's _true love_ and it lasts forever?"

"Then they were meant to be," I said quietly. "Not us. Not Rachel and I._Them_."

For a moment, her face was blank. Then a quiet sneer tilted up one corner of her mouth. "So that's Quinn Fabray's great plan," she said. "Wait and pine. Well, here's a piece of advice, Q - I never knew anyone who got what they wanted from _waiting_."

"_If_ I may," Kurt intervened quickly, but not to back me up. He turned his bright, well-meaning eyes on me and said, "Why don't you just tell her? I think Rachel has the right to make her own choices concerning her love life, and she should _know_ if there's, well...a prospect she's not quite aware of."

"Then what about Daniel?" I demanded. "How am I supposed to explain that to him? Oh, _hey_, I think you're a terrific guy, but _I'm_ trying to steal your girlfriend away!"

"You can't just keep putting other people in front of you, Quinn," Santana said exasperatedly.

"_Yes_, I can," I snapped. "I'm not like you two. It's easy for you to say all this because you both _have_ what you want - and _who_ you want. Me? If I make _one_ wrong move, I could lose _everything_. Do you understand that? Rachel is _everything_ to me."

"Brittany was everything to me, too!"

"You were both having _sex_ before you even knew what you felt for each other!"

"Okay, _stop_," Kurt proclaimed loudly. A few heads were turning towards us, and I could feel my cheeks burning up. "We didn't come here tonight to argue with you. We're sorry. _Aren't_ we, Santana?"

Her eyes dug into me sullenly. "Yeah, sure," she finally said. "_Sorry._"

"Then let's just...talk about something else and remember that Rachel's getting a standing ovation tonight," Kurt muttered. I managed a small smile at him. I knew he only wanted the best for me, but it was hard. I wished that things could be as beautiful and simple between Rachel and I as it was between him and Blaine, but...well. Fairytales aren't for everyone.

But, most especially, fairytales didn't seem to be for me.

* * *

The night was a beautiful and magical myriad of dance and song and incredible talent, but as I had prophesied, no-one shined quite as much as Rachel did. She had a solo all to herself, her skilled notes echoing around the vaulted walls of the theatre with such power and emotion. Kurt was dabbing daintily at his face with a handkerchief, and even Santana was mysteriously silent. I just smiled up at her, and once our eyes met, briefly. _I always knew you were a star_, I wanted to tell her. _Always. Even when _you_ didn't._ But I didn't cry.

Daniel took me by surprise as well. He wasn't so shy and bashful when he was on stage, but rather a whirlwind ball of fiery charisma. I could see him going far, too, and felt privileged to know such talented people. I was very wryly aware of the fact that my own talents could hardly measure up to theirs, but fortunately, I didn't perform to be the very best. I performed because I loved it, and because performing had been the one thing to set me straight and provide me with a great and promising future.

When the recital was over, Santana, Kurt and I waited out front for Rachel. Santana had insisted on going out for drinks after all was done, even though I was worried Rachel would be too tired. She surfaced with a bright smile and a hug for everyone, though, and with Daniel in tow.

"It feels just like old times again!" she squealed. The bright lustre from performing in front of so many people had yet to fade from her doe-brown eyes. "We could be back in Lima if...if the buildings weren't so tall and there weren't so many people and it wasn't New York."

"I'd say this is about ten times better than what Lima could ever be," I remarked. Santana and Kurt clucked their agreement. I glanced at Daniel and noted how strangely quiet he was being. Maybe he was a little more exhausted than he looked. Quickly, I tacked on, "We're all going for drinks, if you want to come. If you're too tired, then it's fine..."

His face lightened up. "Oh, no," he said. "I'd love to. If it's okay with the rest of you, I mean...I know you two don't know me..."

"I'd _love_ to get to know Rachel's new boyfriend," Santana drawled with a smile that set me on edge. Kurt was a little more sincere.

"Are you kidding? You were absolutely wonderful tonight. It would be an _honour_ to drink with you."

Daniel's face flushed with a pinkness that obviously wasn't too used to receiving such high compliments. "Uh," he stammered. "Well, that's cool, then." Rachel turned a wide grin on me, and I smiled back.

The closest bar was only a few blocks down the road, and we piled in on the stools while Santana took it upon herself to order for everyone. I found a Jack-and-coke in front of me that I definitely couldn't remember asking for, but why not? What better occasion to drink on than a fabulous reunion?

"So, tell us a little about yourself, _Daniel_," Santana trilled after downing her first shot. "What brought you and Rachel together?"

"Oh, um." The poor thing became so bewildered whenever she addressed him. He kind of looked at her as if she was Ursula personified, with tentacles pouring out of her head. "Well, we, uh...kinda...it was just..."

"I noticed him on my first day at NYADA," Rachel quickly intervened. Her glass was pretty much untouched. "I heard him..._singing_ with this heavenly voice, and I thought, _oh, that's my angel_."

Santana gagged behind her mouth, and even Kurt looked painfully amused. I leaned forward, folding my elbows over the bar.

"Was it love at first sight?" I asked Daniel.

He seemed a bit more at ease talking to me, even though he didn't quite look at me when he answered. "Kinda," he said. "I mean, she's real pretty. But she's also...I mean...a girl like her's usually way out of my league, so I didn't get my hopes up for it or anything."

Rachel smiled at him fondly. "He's being modest. He could get any girl he wanted to if he tried."

"That's not true," he protested.

"Something we agree on," Santana declared, smiling widely at Daniel and sending him back into an uncomfortable silence.

"Where are you from?" Kurt asked quickly.

"Kentucky," Daniel answered haltingly. He didn't quite trust Santana not to bare mysterious vampire teeth and eat him alive yet.

"Well, that's a long way from home."

"Yeah, but...I wouldn't be anywhere else in the world. Life's good here. The people are great."

"Namely Rachel," Santana drawled. I glared at her over the top of Rachel's head.

"Stop talking," I suggested sweetly before looking back at Daniel. "You really were great tonight. You and Rachel are gonna take Broadway by storm."

He cracked a shy, bashful smile. "You really think so? I mean, I know _she's_ good, but..."

"I mean every word."

I didn't know why, but he seemed almost sad. His head nodded and his lips continued to smile, but he looked at me as though I was lying, maybe, or being possessed by a wicked demon succubus soul. Out of the assembled company, though, I think that would've been _Satana_ and not me.

The talk after that was mostly small and consisted of Santana being snide to Daniel whenever she could. I considered taking her aside for a few minutes, but knew that if I did, she'd just go around making a big scene about how I was in love with Rachel again. As for Rachel herself, well...I was concerned about her. She seemed a lot thinner than I remembered her being in earlier days, enough to make me wonder why I hadn't noticed before. There were bags beneath her eyes that I think were from more than just exhaustion. She didn't drink much, and when Kurt ordered a snack, didn't share in it like the rest of us did. By the time we left the bar, I'd stopped having fun and was mainly just watching her. She, however, was oblivious to my observing.

"Where are you guys staying tonight?" she asked Kurt and Santana, walking just a little ahead of me, her skirts swaying and rustling between her slender legs as she moved.

"We've booked a hotel room," Santana replied, "but if you've got something better to offer..."

"Um, well, I'd invite you all back to my apartment, but..." Rachel's cheeks took on a faint blush. "Let's just say I've been more preoccupied with rehearsing than _housekeeping_."

"Then come back to mine," Daniel suddenly said. We all turned to blink at him, hovering slightly behind with his hands stuffed meekly into his pockets. He paled a bit at the sudden attention. "Or...not, if you folks aren't comfortable with that."

"No," I said quickly. "No, there's nothing wrong with that. It's just...is it okay? I mean, you barely know me, and as for Kurt and Santana..."

"I'm pretty sure you guys aren't going to mug me," he said with a sheepish grin. "And if you do, uh...well, _c'est la vie_."

Santana glanced over at Kurt. "What d'you say, Hummel? We can sleep on Almanzo Wilder's floor tonight."

"I've got spare mattresses," Daniel said quickly. "And pillows. And stuff. So it won't be too bad."

"Wow, I can't even _insult_ you without you being nice to me," Santana commented, mildly disgusted, but Kurt smiled widely at Daniel.

"That's really, _really_ kind of you, but it's fine - I mean, the hotel's as good as any - "

"He means _thanks_, we'll be staying over tonight," the queen bitch interrupted. I caught Rachel's eye up in front and smiled in sympathy. She looked a little fearful for Daniel's life.

"What about you, Quinn?" she managed. "Are you...taking a train back?"

"I'd only take up more space. Besides, I didn't bring any spare clothes for a sleepover. I'll have to pass."

"Don't be a buzz-kill, Q," Satan incarnate groaned at me. "I'll unpack some jammies for you."

"I don't particularly feel like wearing the Devil's skin tonight." I forced a smile at all of them. "Don't worry about me. You'll have a blast."

And so we all separated in front of the subway. I gave Rachel a long, lingering hug while the others chattered amongst themselves, pulling back briefly to look her straight in the eye. She seemed happy and excited, still, but there was an undeniable seed of exhaustion down deeper within.

"Rachel," I said slowly. "Are you okay? You seemed a little off tonight. Have you eaten anything at all?"

The momentary flash of alarm was all I needed to confirm my suspicions. "Wha...of course I have," she stammered quickly. "Why? Why are you asking that?"

"Because you look tired. And _way_ too thin." I rubbed her arm gently. "Don't be too hard on yourself, okay? Promise me that?"

"Of course." Her eyes didn't quite meet mine. "I'd promise you anything, Quinn."

"I don't think that's completely true." Before I could stop myself, I had leaned forwards and pressed a kiss to her cheek. I stepped back right after, and she looked stunned. "See you next weekend. Rest yourself now. You did beautifully tonight."

"W-_Wait_," she began, but Daniel called to her when he saw me walking away. I smiled at her over my shoulder, but I didn't feel too hot as I descended the subway steps. It kind of broke me that Rachel was treating herself so poorly. Daniel was as good a guy as she could probably find, but he wasn't exactly the type to really take care of himself, let alone other people. If only I could be with Rachel more often, to make sure she didn't neglect her own well-being...

_But we both lead completely separate lives_, I thought to myself. _We're just a myriad of weekend trysts and text messages. I expect too much out of everything. That's my problem._

Or was that _really_ just my problem? Maybe Santana was right. Maybe it was time I stopped putting other people in front of me. Then I scoffed. Time I _stopped?_ I'd practically only just begun. I was the most selfish little wretch you could've met several years back, and everything I did was solely for myself and, occasionally, the beautiful, perfect daughter I had given away to be adopted by Rachel Berry's very own mother. Oh, I would have done anything for her. I would have lost Mrs. Corcoran her _job_ for her. Then I quietly wondered how I could be so cruel and do that for my own child, but not for the girl I claimed was my everything.

_I need help_, I realised as I sat down on the train back to my dorm. _Before this becomes Finchel 2.0._


End file.
